


Thymelaeaceae

by GammilyIsMe



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mentions of Forced Prostitution, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:22:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28567671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GammilyIsMe/pseuds/GammilyIsMe
Summary: “Is this real?” My voice cracks as I say it, but I am not embarrassed. In the Academy, I expected to uphold my family name and bring pride to my district.“Yes, dear sister. This is real. I am real. You’ve won.” He did not say that I was safe, for you can never be safe, even in the embrace of an elder brother.“And what a win that was, my dear girl! A legacy victor! It was a close call at the end I must say but your performance was stunning.” It was the voice of Cicero Locke, the Head Gamemaker.Anthony squeezes my shoulder in warning as I compose myself, presenting exactly the Daphne who the world is meant to see. I am Daphne Bridgerton. My father was a Victor, my eldest brother is a Victor, and now, so am I.I look up to Cicero and give him the charming smile he wants to see, the one that hides all of my teeth and looks like the lady my mother expects me to be, that the Capitol loves to see. I am beautiful and I am a winner and I am alive.That is all that matters.I am alive.AKA the Hunger Games AU that nobody asked for where Daphne is the newest Victor
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset
Comments: 15
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will be unabashedly using dialogue from the show. If you see it and recognize it, know that it is because I have been rewatching nonstop because the vibes of it are immaculate.

I wake with a hoarse roar and an empty fist, my brain still ready for a fight. Someone is there, catching my hand with ease and they pull me tight against their body. The arms are thick with muscle and keep me trapped as I struggle against them. I need to escape, to run, but I can’t. I scream again but it is muffled by the broad chest I am trapped against. I am soon running out of breath, my muscles weak from overuse and exhaustion. 

“Daphne it’s okay. You're safe. Daphne. It’s Anthony. It’s okay. You won. You’re safe.” As the world clears I recognize that the person who has trapped me in their arms is Anthony. My brother. My mentor. 

With that my struggles turn to sobs as I return his embrace. His hands that I once thought as dangerous turn into a comforting weight on my back as I try to calm myself. My lungs heave as I take myself into account. I am alive.

Anthony continues whispering soothing words into my ears like Mama used to do after their father had passed. I wonder if Anthony was like this after his own games. If Papa had done the same for him once he had first woken up on the hovercraft. 

I wonder, only for a second, that I was still in the arena and this was all a delusion brought on by the creeping poppies in my maze. 

“Is this real?” My voice cracks as I say it, a far cry from my usual strong tone. But I am not embarrassed. In the Academy, I expected to uphold my family name and bring pride to my district. I knew half of the Games was the show I would put on, and I know it was a good one. I should feel proud, but I just feel tired. I only have so much time until I need to perform again.

“Yes, dear sister. This is real. I am real. You’ve won.” He did not say that I was safe, for you can never be safe, even in the embrace of an elder brother. 

“I won,” I say in a whisper with Anthony’s hand soothing circles into my back. 

“And what a win that was, my dear girl! A legacy victor! It was a close call at the end I must say but your performance was stunning.” It was the voice of Cicero Locke, the Head Gamemaker. 

Anthony squeezes my shoulder in warning as I compose myself, presenting exactly the Daphne who the world is meant to see. I am Daphne Bridgerton. My father was a Victor, my eldest brother is a Victor, and now, so am I. 

I look up to Cicero and give him the charming smile he wants to see, the one that hides all of my teeth and looks like the lady my mother expects me to be, that the Capitol loves to see. I am beautiful and I am a winner and I am alive.

That is all that matters.

I am alive.

* * *

“Breathe, Daphne,” my escort reminds me. “They already love you.”

The voiceover from overhead finishes introducing Caesar and the audience claps as he quips about the games ending too soon.

I carefully smooth the silk of my dress and lift my head high, the tendrils of hair from my bun tickle the back of my neck. Caesar is already sitting in his chair on stage and even though I need no introduction, I get one anyway. The crowd of Capitolites cheers in the crowd as I step onto the stage and already I can see how the Games have influenced the fashions. 

The audience is very green in a way they were not at the Tribute Interviews. The maze seems to have set the theme for the upcoming season in the Capitol. I see Anthony sitting in the crowd with some other victors, clapping politely and reminding myself who I am.

Caesar takes my hand and leads me to my seat.

“Daphne, so wonderful to see you again!”

“Why thank you, Caesar. I am so ecstatic to be back with you, not that I had any doubts.” With that, I sit down, the blue of my dress glittering under the spotlight.

“So Daphne,” he says, leaning into me as if we are sharing secrets. One could almost believe it if not for the crowd. “How are you?”

“I am doing _so_ well, thank you for asking.”

“What did you think of the arena this year?”

“It certainly was beautiful, Caesar.”

“But as you showed us, the most beautiful things can also be the most deadly.” He gestured to the crowd and they went wild once again.

I smile demurely and cross my legs as if I had not killed five other teenagers to be here right now. 

We talk as two old friends would, about the bloodbath and the Careers’ initial alliance. One and Two, plus the boy from Four. The girl was young and scored poorly by the Gamemakers. We talk of navigating the bloodbath and our raid of the cornucopia, and the resulting maze to find the other tributes afterward.

“And your district partner, Onyx?” Caesar asks. 

“We both knew he wasn’t going to win. Not when it was me and Althea. I always knew it would be down to the two of us.”

“And how did you know?”

“A lady never shares her secrets,” I say with a laugh.

“It doesn't have to do with the fire lily Althea was adding to the medicine she was making for his wound, does it?”

“Well, perhaps it does. A girl needs to use any advantage she can get. He wouldn’t have lasted as long as he did without my help. We agreed upon that much. Our alliance just ended earlier than he expected.”

“Yes, you and your allies all made it to the Final Eight, how did you feel about that?”

“Obviously I was proud. I had spent so long looking up to my older brother and wanting to make my family and my district proud.”

“Speaking of family,” Caesar starts. He goes on about what the audience must have been thinking at the time once the Games reached the final eight tributes, making a quip and we all laugh at the joke.

We all turn our attention to the screens, but my eyes are enraptured. I have not seen my family since they saw me off in the Justice Building after I was allowed to volunteer.

When I see my mother on the screen I almost cry, and since I am on camera I force the tears to come. I am a dutiful daughter who loves her mother, the one who was born in the Capitol and married a handsome Victor in an unforgettable love story that influences how Capitolites still look at Victors today. 

My mother, her hair glittering in jewels, had unflinching confidence in me that I would win. Anthony speaks next, of course, and they also show a clip of a few of my younger siblings together as they root for me. I wipe away a tear that appeared when I saw their faces, thinking of how I get to hug little Hyacinth once more when I get home. Even Eloise gave an interview, saying I was always the perfect one between the two of us and she needs me to stay alive so Mama can keep expecting less of her. I laugh, knowing I should have expected this of her.

“Well, Miss Daphne, perfect are you? Your sister seems to think so.”

“Oh Caesar, I do try my best. And if my best is perfect then I am merely successful.” A radiant smile graces my face, and I know I am dazzling the crowd then Anthony raises his flask in a toast to me. Feeling more confident after the videos, Caesar continues with the interview.

“We saw what your siblings think, but what do you think Colin would think of you now?” My smile freezes on my face like the canals in One during winter. Colin. My sweet older brother who forgot that you are never safe, especially in the Games. My dead brother. I make my smile more forlorn at the thought of him, consciously thinking of my appearance but not faking the emotion. 

“Colin was always the idealistic one. I think he would hope I get to go home and settle down and start a family of my own.” The words come out after the thought came to my mind. Anything to get off of the topic of the dead.

Caesar leans forward into his seat like a hound on the scent of blood. “A family? So soon?”

I am sure to look wistfully into the crowd. “Well, Mama married my father after his games, and I've always wanted a large family of my own.” I smile once more, this one smaller as if I am embarrassed by my womanly ambition. As if I am not a celebrated killer. 

“Do you have anyone waiting for you back home? This was a leading question, one that I was ready for.”

I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and force a blush to my cheeks. “No, I don’t.”

“Are you sure? That look on your face says otherwise.” Someone in the crowd loudly catcalls.

“We’ll all have to wait and see, then. It will be a surprise.” I turn to the audience. “Don’t you love surprises?” Unsurprisingly, they agree with me.

“Sadly my friends, I think that is all for tonight. I feel like we’ll see a lot of Miss Daphne in the coming months on her Victory Tour!” 

“Daphne Bridgerton, everybody!” He grabs my hand and places a kiss on my knuckles. I give another smile to him and the audience before I blow kisses to the audience members. The scramble to catch my imaginary kisses and one faints once he succeeds. I see Anthony nod his head in approval and I know the worst is over.

I feel full of energy as I walk off the stage and remind myself that I am alive. 

* * *

I am covered in jewels from head to toe, from the tips of my heels to the top of my hair. My lips are covered in tiny crystals that glimmered in the light. My stylists ensured me that they were real and that I should not have to worry about them coming off as I ate or danced or did any other fun activities that I might get up to tonight.

“You look stunning, Daphne,” he says to me as he holds out his arm. 

I curtsy at him and giggle, twirling a strand of hair around a finger. “Thank you, Anthony,” I say. “You look dashing yourself. Not as glittery of course.”

“Well, that would be hard to do, given the state of you.” We take one look at the gown and the gemstones glued to my bare arms before I burst into another fit of quiet laughter. Anthony takes my arm and leans towards me. 

“Have you had any giggle juice tonight?”

“I don’t think so?” I reply, thinking back to the sparkling purple drink my stylists and I shared as we were getting ready. “Well, maybe. It was purple.”

“Yes, that’s it. Don’t accept any drinks that I don’t give you. Okay?” I think back to Harvest Dances in the Castle Square, where the winemakers would sell jug wine to those out dancing by the Pillar of Victory. I know how ridiculous people get when they are compromised and do not wish to do so myself. 

The banquet in the President’s Mansion that is thrown in my honor is more extravagant than even Cressida Cowper could have imagined. Cressida, my old childhood friend and rival, who after leaving the Academy last year married the Mayor’s son and wore as many jewels as could fit on her small chest. I suppose my outfit would outshine even her tonight.

Anthony is my chaperone for the night, taking the opportunity to introduce me to those he deems necessary, or to simply get a reaction out of me. I meet with the other mentors of the districts, wondering if any of them knew my father. I know that tonight is not the night to ask, only to accept their congratulations on my success.

There are other Victors at the party as well, mingling with the Capitolites. I had thought they would stay home but they must enjoy the attention they receive here. Anthony and I wander to Simon Hastings, an older Victor from One who won his games when he was only 16, and the son of another Victor like me and Anthony. That year caused a scandal back in One with the Academy Heads chose someone who wasn’t 18. 

Anthony’s face lights up into a smile, a real one that I can recognize at the sight of his old friend. They are similar in ages and won their games a few years apart. Both are commonly seen on CC Networks and Daily Insider at parties or dinners with different women on their arms at each one. Each time, the hosts of the shows appear to be scandalized even though it is always the same story, no matter the face nor the name.

“Congratulations Miss Bridgerton,” he says with a beautiful smile that does not reach his eyes. I think to myself that at least someone here knows their manners, but the thought is soon gone as he opens his mouth again and mutters something 

“At least you’re of age,” mutters Simon. My eyebrows twist in confusion as he lifts his glass and gives me a mockery of a toast and he stumbles, visibly drunk. Anthony leaps forward to catch him before hitting the ground and he looks around to see if anyone has seen his blunder. They exchange sharp whispers and Mr. Hastings bellows a harsh laugh that turns heads. An unfamiliar man helps pick up Mr. Hastings and soon they are gone. I wonder what that could possibly mean as Anthony quickly whisks me away. 

I am learning that there is so much that I do not know of the world that my mother grew up in, and of my brother that I feel off balance.

Anthony and I make our way onto the dance floor. The music is familiar and soon we fall into the familiar steps of the dance. We twirl together and it reminds me of our dancing lessons in our home when we were younger, with Mama and Papa demonstrating the steps and I was partnered with Colin, who still had not left for the Academy. I

“Will anything ever be the same?” 

“For you, no. For everyone else, you are the new thing that will be easily replaced. We are easily replaceable.”

“But you- we are Victors. Our district will celebrate us for the honor this has brought us.” Anthony is quiet. “Of course in the district, they will love you. But here in the Capitol, it is an entirely different gem. They see us as entertainment, even after the Games are over.”

“But Mama and Papa-”

“Things have changed in the Capitol since Papa won his Games, Daphne.” He cracks a smile at me. “Surely you’ve seen those dreadful gossip channels and magazines about the Victors. It is easy entertainment for them.” He spins me around, and I look around the dance floor at all of the unfamiliar styles.

“They have little to nothing to do in their daily lives so they focus on ours.” I spend the rest of the night focusing on the other attendees of the banquet as Anthony murmurs names and tidbits about their lives into my ear. I notice that while the vibrant colors remind me of home, the silhouettes are entirely foreign to me. As Anthony tells me more about Elexa Mynth and her fondness for gambling, I am once again struck by the differences between home and the Capitol.

The song ends and Anthony escorts me to the tables of food. Most of it looks unfamiliar to me and my confusion must show on my face because it makes Anthony laugh. He begins to explain the different dishes and which to stay away from, like the soused pig face. He ensures me that the shrimp are delicious, and their size is at least double of the ones we can get on occasion back in One. 

“Is it always like this?” I ask Anthony as we finish our food and watch others eat more than they can possibly hold.

“No, sometimes it is worse.” I look at him out of the corner of my eye, pretending to keep my eye on the dancers in the middle of the room. I entirely miss the man who walks up to us, the first since before Anthony had started introducing me to people.

“A dance if you will, Daphne?” I blink in surprise as the man steps closer to me, feeling thrown. More people have called me by my given name in the past week than ever before. Back in One, you called people by their family names unless you were close. Then again all of these people seemed to think that they knew me. 

Anthony speaks up, his fake smile firmly painted back onto his face. “Daphne, this is Mr. Berbrooke, he-”

“Daphne, please call me Nigel.” His yellow suit is almost glowing as if it was dusted with gold dust deemed too yellow to be sold. Even worse were his teeth, which were a matching shade and so unsightly it takes all that I can to not react. “I was one of your sponsors during the games. I certainly feel as if I know you already. I hope we get to know each other much better.” I laugh as if he said something particularly funny and place a hand on his forearm, taking Mama’s teachings on how to interact with Capitol men to heart. Flattery will get you everywhere, and lying was a game in itself.

“Thank you so much for your sponsorship Mr. Berbrooke!” I am sure to look up at him in a way that I know makes my eyes look larger. He looks annoyed, probably due to me not calling him by his name as we asked. I can still see the yellow of his teeth and am reminded of the dock workers who live in the Slum, too poor for dental work but wealthy enough for the facsimile gems available on the Black Street Market. 

“I was wondering if you would promise me a dance, Daphne.” Anthony shoots me a look, one I know well from past dances at home and I stumble into his arms.

“Daphne are you alright?” Even Mr. Berbrooke looks concerned. 

“I feel ill all of a sudden,” I say, forcing my face to blush and my eyes to remain wide.

“Daphne, how many glasses have you had?” Anthony quickly pulls me close to him and gives Mr. Berbooke a smirk. He laughs, “She is still young.” 

I lean my weight on him and pretend to look embarrassed yet ill and give a sheepish smile to the man that Anthony clearly dislikes. “I am so-” and I stumble, but I know that Anthony has a firm grip on me and will not let me fall.

Mr. Berbrooke laughs at me and gives Anthony a firm slap on the shoulder that even I feel. I wonder how many times that Anthony has pulled this stunt that nobody looks at us, or if it is truly as he said that people are so wrapped up in themselves they rarely use their eyes to see.

We make our way to one of the many empty hallways of the Mansion not blocked off when I shove Anthony’s hand off of me. 

“What was that? What’s wrong?” I cross my arms, the feeling of unease returning. I try to focus on my breathing, on the weight of my dress, of the aching in my feet.

“Daphne, promise me that you won’t make any promises to anyone, about anything. Do not accept any invitations either.” He looks stern with his eyebrows cinched together. He looked like Father used to, when he was serious about something. Instead of making me feel safe, I am simply reminded of everything that has changed. I burn with annoyance, feeling like I could melt the gems off of my arms with a simple thought.

“I’m not a child anymore Anthony, surely you’ve noticed that. You don’t need to boss me around or control me.” His eyes become dark and he hits the wall in anger, making me jump. When he turns to me he is not angry like I expected. His face is etched with desperation.

“Daphne,” his voice is low and his eyes are worried, “please promise me. And don’t go anywhere alone with anyone who isn’t me.”

I stare at him, hoping that he will explain himself. He does not.

“Please.” His voice sounds like it is close to breaking. 

“Okay, I won’t then. Only you.” He breathes out a silent sigh of relief. He raises an arm to run his hand through his hair only to stop it halfway in an aborted motion to offer it back to me.

“Shall we get back to the party then?” He takes my arm in his and pats the back of my hand as we walk back into what must be the gravel pits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I binged Bridgerton in one day and the rigid social structure made me want a Hunger Games AU and so this was born. I don’t expect this to end up that long (two or three chapters I think) but also whoever knows with anything. 
> 
> I am basing my idea of D1 off of a city like Amsterdam with a main city and outlying farms for fancy produce. Also, they make wine in D1 so I’m imagining they have a festival in the fall to celebrate a successful season. 
> 
> I am lowkey out of my comfort zone writing this in both present tense and first person, so if you see any mistakes of any kind please let me know!
> 
> Thymelaeaceae is the family of plants that Daphne odorus belongs to! 
> 
> Also if you want to know more about my headcanons about One lmk! I love world building (as seen by me trying to incorporate different sayings and idioms). My mental map of it is based on the ‘Panem Forever’ minecraft server lol. 
> 
> The Head Gamemaker, Cicero Locke, is a random name I made up, as are the celebrity gossip channels CC Networks and Daily Insider. There are two canonical news channels (Capitol TV and Capitol News) but I think that those are moreso for news. Not entirely sure but I figured there must be some form of gossip channel. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Kudos and comments are loved. Subscribe to stay tuned.


	2. Chapter 2

From last chapter:

_“Please.” His voice sounds like it is close to breaking._

_“Okay, I won’t then. Only you.” He breathes out a silent sigh of relief. He raises an arm to run his hand through his hair only to stop it halfway in an aborted motion to offer it back to me._

_“Shall we get back to the party then?” He takes my arm in his and pats the back of my hand as we walk back into what must be the gravel pits._

* * *

I sit in the back of the car and allow myself to slouch only for a moment. My feet ache as if I had been training for hours, but the soreness is not accompanied by the usual sense of pride or accomplishment I usually feel. I am just tired in a way I have never been before. Anthony and I must have greeted every attendee of the party, skillfully maneuvering around invitations for tea or dinner. We were invited to grand openings of bakeries I had never heard of or clubs that I had never been to. Luckily we politely declined and asked them to go through our escort, Verdant Trill, who was unusually aloof for someone born and raised in the Capitol. They were left flattered and I was escaped with no outstanding invitations. Even if I did accept, my days were filled with promotional events from my Games or other social events similar to tonight. My thoughts as I did one thing or the next, my opinions on other tributes, my opinions on past games. I felt fawned over.

Anthony did let me accept tea time with a few women he must have approved of, who I later learned were thought of like family to him. Some even were family, cousins of Mama, which surprised me. The fact shouldn’t have, as I knew she grew up in the Capitol but learning that there were still relatives I didn’t know felt foreign to me. 

I am sitting with my cousins in their townhouse, strangers who share my nose and my eyes. I feel so disconnected from this reality. How can we be so similar yet different? These cousins who wear familiar colors but in the recent fashions compared to the simpler silhouettes of One. Life in the Capitol, where stone facades do not hide the crumbling stonework of age old structures. Where foods and cuisines are so effortlessly flaunted. I look around and see their wealth set on display effortlessly. And fleetingly I wonder why Mama had ever left.

“Daphne, are you excited for your victory tour?” I am startled from my thoughts by my cousin Dione. Her sisters, Baucis and Evadne quickly chime in, giving me no time to properly respond.

“Do you plan on staying in the Capitol?”

“Oh please do! There are so many marvellous things I would love to show you!” They look at me so earnestly and I don’t have the heart to say no to them. I think of what Anthony would say, of a way to deflect the situation.

“I don’t know. I have people back in One who are waiting for me,” I take a careful bite of my pastry and force a blush onto my cheeks. I know they will take the bait. Now they are twittering at the thought of romance in my future. I know their minds think of a boy, but really I just want to see my siblings again. I sigh and look out the window once more, taking another bite of my pastry.

Soon, I think to myself. I shall see them soon.

* * *

I stand the way I had been taught by my mother, the graceful movement of the daughter of a Victor. There is a string tied tight to the top of my head, pulling me up straight like a doll. But it is my own movements that I treasure. Of how my muscles push and pull while maintaining a predatory grace. I can win fights of words with manners and elegance the way a man does with a sword. Of course, I am able to wield a sword better than any man but it is the way of a man to forget the fact.

Anthony is off entertaining a gaggle of women, who fawn over his smile. I have been spending the entirety of the ball trying to politely decline Mr. Berbrooke’s invitations as I had in the past, but without Anthony, it was growing progressively difficult to do so. 

Tonight, the banquet is in some government person’s mansion, more ostentatious than that of the President. There must be some reason for the event, but they are all starting to blend together as I grow weary of my time in the Capitol. I catch sight of Mr. Berbrooke follows me to the drinks table and I snatch a drink and turn foot. I only make it a few feet before I catch sight of the man I perhaps disdain only second to Berbrooke.

Trapped between two unlikable options, I spot a young man in front of me. He is one of the most beautiful guests I have seen here, a beauty that could be recognized back in One compared to the extreme fashions of the Capitol. His skin is not dyed, his teeth look white, and his hair is the soft color of citrine. I recognize him from a previous introduction. I finish the rest of my drink and an Avox quickly takes it away. I allow a smile to shine on my face and I stride up to him. 

“Mr. Moss, how are you?” My voice is breathy as I look into his eyes and notice that he has had a procedure done to match his eye color to his hair. A giggle makes its way out of my belly and Mr. Moss looks delighted at my attention.

“Daphne, I am doing so much better now that you are here.” He looks me up and down and I giggle once more, my head feeling floaty and all of my tension gone from my body. 

“Would you care for a dance?” Before I can respond yes, a deep voice interrupted. 

“Cornelius! I am afraid that Daphne has already promised she would dance with me?” Simon Hastings in all of his beautiful glory had appeared to ruin my night, just as expected. My mind clears in its anger as we step onto the dance floor. 

“Cornelius Moss, beautiful of face but ugly of heart.” I can smell his cologne, something spicy and unrecognizable. Perfuming had never been a passion of mine unlike some of my friends back home.

“And how would you know, Mr. Hastings.” I was sure that my chin was jutting out unattractively but I did not aim to impress him.

“You appear displeased,” he says, voice smooth like a tumbled stone from the banks of the canal in One. 

“Do I?” My voice was uncomfortably high and I force my cheeks to remain pale. I raise my eyebrows in challenge to his question.

“We find ourselves dancing, Miss Bridgerton. I would think you’d be happy about that.”

“Perhaps, Mr. Hastings, it would be better if you refrained from thinking about me at all.”

“It is simply surprising.”

“Yes! However is it possible for a lady to offer anything other than a smile while in your presence.” I chance looking him in the eyes and ready myself for what I would see. I imagine him to be like the cubic zirconia sold at Black Street Market. Bright and beautiful and hard, but ultimately worthless. “Even one of your reputation.”

He responds, voice flat, “You are aware of my reputation.” He huffs out a single breath of mocking laughter and gives me a rakish smile, one that I have seen plastered over my screens and has surely caused hundreds of women to fall in love with him. I am not one of them. 

“I am aware of your friendship with my eldest brother. If that were not enough, I am also aware of the things a certain writer has recently written of you.” I do not stop, I cannot stop the words from escaping my lips. 

“Presumptuous? Clearly. Arrogant? Most definitely. You are a degenerate through and through. Tell me I am wrong.” These biting barbs sting like nettles that grow in Castle Square and I know from the way he maintains his _stupid_ smile on his face that I am right.

“Is that what you think?” His tone is sardonic, and his lips adopt a cruel twist as he speaks. “Daphne, you’re a Victor. You can’t be that innocent.”

I am instantly enraged at the thought I have spent the past week agonizing over. “Of course, I’m not innocent! I have killed!” I think of Onyx, my district partner. In my mind, he is the child who was my friend when we first joined the Academy, smiling and dead in my arms, after my own actions killed him. 

I am distracted by my thoughts when Mr. Hastings lets out a breath and stares at me in a way that I cannot decipher. His voice is incredulous when he says, “You really are. You have no idea, do you?” 

“No idea of what! What else could there possibly be?” I exclaim, my lips pressed thin. “I. Won,” I growl out. “It’s over. I go home, find a boy, and can start my own family. Just like Mama expects me to.” I wonder what we appear like to the casual observer. If I look as crazed as I currently feel. 

He laughs bitterly and takes a sip of his drink. Judging by the smell of his breath, close enough I can feel the heat of it on my cheek, it is some expensive spirit. “It’s not over. They’re never over.” 

“How did Papa get away then?” 

“It’s changed. Everything is a show, even after the Games are over. Your little play of having a boy back home? You’ve only made yourself more desirable.” 

“Why would they want me?” I know from my classes in the academy and from my mother how to play with emotions. How to invoke desire or jealousy, the weapons of a beautiful girl. But what Mr. Hastings speaks of is something that I simply do not understand.

He looks me up and down and I feel her cheeks fill with heat. “Why wouldn't they want you.” He stares at me and I have never felt more seen. “You’re innocent.”

I stare into his brown eyes and cannot wrap my mind around the idea of being innocent. If I was innocent I would not dream of my kills with the red staining my hands and creeping into the crevices of my cuticles, unable to get it out. Only to awake on the hovercraft as if nothing had happened. Would someone who was innocent kill their own district partner? 

I turn on my heels and rush off to find Anthony, who is being fawned over by a woman with her hair that almost made me forget my mission. It was tall and green and oddest of all, shaped like a square maze. Craziness seemed to be catching. I politely introduce myself to the woman, who titters with delight at the thought of two Victors speaking with her.

“Daphne, I would like to introduce you to Madam Orcia Richings. Orcia, my sister Miss Daphne Bridgerton.” Anthony’s smile is as fake as the hair on that woman’s head.

“Pleased to meet you, Madam Richings. If you excuse me, I need to pull my dear brother away for a time. I need his assistance with a particularly persistent suitor-” I say with a giggle and continue, “With your looks, I am sure that you know the struggle.” I successfully make Madam Richings laugh and she shoos us off with wishes of luck.

I drag Anthony onto the dance floor, continuing the ruse and pulling him close for a dance. I know that I would be unable to find cause to maneuver him into the empty halls like he had managed to at the first banquet.

“Anthony, what did Mr. Hastings mean,” I ask, my voice leaving me in one breath as I rush the question out of my thoughts and into the open. 

At the mention of his friend, Anthony’s eyes narrow. “Simon spoke to you? What did he say?”

Our steps are flawless as we dance on the floor. I stare at his features, seeing the face I once knew so well as if it were a stranger. “He said that I’m innocent.” 

His response was quick. “You are.” I went to open my mouth but Anthony silenced me with one of his looks he must have learned from Papa. “You are in the way that counts.”

“I'm trying to keep you that way, dear sister. You’re better than us.”

“Better? How?”

“Please don’t worry about it. After your Victory Tour, you’ll get to stay at home and become the housewife you’ve always wanted to be.”

* * *

I pour myself another cup of tea, more expensive than any I could get back home. I swirl the cup and take a bracing sip. We are sitting in the Tower, on a private floor exclusively for the newest victor’s use. Verdant had just left to do whatever it is when she is not with us, not before reminding us that our calm day is only due to a busy evening and that my stylists would be coming over to help me get ready for it.

I rest my elbow on the arm of the couch and stare at Anthony, who is standing by the window nursing a short glass of amber liquid. He stares outside at the lights sparkle and twinkle and I hum at the scene. Quiet mornings like this were far and few between.

Anthony is wearing a shirt that leaves his arms bare. It is an interesting sight, the smooth skin unblemished even knowing firsthand that he nearly lost his arm fighting. Mama had nearly fainted at the sight, but when he returned home to us he looked just as he had before he won. I set down the cup back onto its plate on the side table. The harsh sound it makes shatters the serene silence of the room and Anthony finally turns to me. 

“Do you wish to tell me now,” I ask flatly as we are settled into the living room in my apartment. It is sparsely furnished, as it is just the current Victor’s lodging and when I return from my Victory tour I will be provided another apartment elsewhere in the city if I want to keep it.

“Do you ever think about your mistakes?” I startle at the non sequitur. This is not what I thought he would be speaking about. I let him continue speaking, deciding not to speak until my questions were answered.

“I have made many mistakes in my life and I have found that all of them have consequences.” I wonder what he could be talking about. He won his Games, and he was one of the most popular Victors in our district. Mama wished for him to marry soon rather than sleep around as he did, but he was not the source of any true scandals.

“When I was his mentor, I let Colin die. In his Games. I did not help as much as I could have done and I let him die.” I inhale a shocked breath. Anthony rarely spoke about the games. 

“When you are a mentor, you need to be prepared to take initiative to get sponsors. Nobody is willing to let go of their money for nothing, even those who have very little of it. I was popular, but not nearly enough to those who truly mattered to win the Games. I thought I could cheat the system.” He is staring out the empty door as if he is seeing someone there.

“Where is this going, Anthony?” My fisted hands open, losing the tension as I instead grab the fabric of my dress. Nothing he is saying makes any sense and I am just as confused as I was last night. 

“You know that Simon was my mentor. We were both only teenagers. He got me out of there, out of the Games, even though he knew exactly what was waiting for me. I could not let Colin suffer the same.”

“I am tired of you hedging around this! Suffer? Suffer what? We were waiting for you! Papa was waiting for you.” I feel my eyes well with tears at the thought that Anthony had let our brother die out of some foolish notion of honor.

“No. No, Daphne. There’s more. Please.” He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He looks back to the doorway, avoiding my eyes. Eyes that I know I shared with Colin. “You win because you have sponsors, dear sister. Sponsors who expect to be compensated for their time and money.”

What he describes next is difficult to hear but I can sense the fear and trepidation in his voice as he explains the red envelopes. Hesitantly, he speaks of _special_ appointments between Victors and clients. 

“And if I were to refuse.” At this, he finally looks me in the eyes again, stone faced in his seriousness of the situation.

“And if you refuse,” he repeats, voice subdued. “If you refuse these meetings then someone you love will suffer the consequences.” I think of our family at home in One, of all of my siblings who were vulnerable and I finally begin to understand. Anthony did not refuse and has been protecting us for so long, and now I have the honor of joining him. I can feel the dread forming like slag in the pit of my stomach. He reaches down and gently lifts up my chin, our eyes meeting once again.

“But I’m trying, Daphne, to find a way out of it. You are a true diamond of the first water. You don’t deserve this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And here it is we love the angst. As always, if you see any errors lmk as I have not beta-d this. 
> 
> Citrine is an orangey yellow color. 
> 
> I spent so long looking up synonyms for rake and here are some others that I found but didn’t quite fit: varlet, knave, wastrel, scoundrel
> 
> Please leave a kudos and let me know what you think in the comments! Subscribe to keep up with this :)


	3. Chapter 3

From last chapter:

_“And if I were to refuse.” At this, he finally looks me in the eyes again, stone faced in his seriousness of the situation._

_“And if you refuse,” he repeats, voice subdued. “If you refuse these meetings then someone you love will suffer the consequences.” I think of our family at home in One, of all of my siblings who were vulnerable and I finally begin to understand._

_Anthony did not refuse and has been protecting us for so long, and now I have the honor of joining him. I can feel the dread forming like slag in the pit of my stomach. He reaches down and gently lifts up my chin, our eyes meeting once again._

_“But I’m trying, Daphne, to find a way out of it. You are a true diamond of the first water. You don’t deserve this.”_

* * *

“Is this not the most bizarre thing you have ever seen?” I let out another gasp at the telecast, watching as someone twirled on screen, showing off the most hideous dress I have ever seen. Anthony had just arrived back at my apartment. I have successfully been avoiding the topic of the red envelopes since he had brought it up after breakfast. Anthony had tactfully retreated immediately after, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Luckily, Capitol TV was mindless enough to chase away any serious from my mind.

“Look, Anthony.” He does not look. I stare at his frown. “What is it?” I switch off the holoscreen. 

“Mr. Berbrooke’s family is well established. He has a legitimate job in the government. He has had an excellent education, possesses no debts, never hurt an animal or a woman, and doesn't even drink.” He takes a breath. “To speak plainly, there is nothing wrong with him.”

My mind begins to race at what Anthony could possibly be talking about. “What should any of this—” He cuts me off. 

“You are to marry him.”

“Mr. Berbrooke?!” I say incredulously. When had the topic of marriage ever come up, let alone any interest in a man like Berbrooke? 

“I had to find an out for you. You can’t turn out like us. This is it. This is the way. Please, be grateful it is done.” His eyes soften as he looks upon my face. “It should be just as easy to fall in love with Mr. Berbrooke as with any boy at home.”

“I will not hear of this. I would rather sell myself than marry him.”

“You would rather be a _whore_ than a wife? Do you even know what would happen to you?” The way he says the word makes me flinch but I remain resolute. 

“I will not marry him.”

“Daphne be reasonable there is nothing wrong with it. I have already brought it up with the man and he is amenable to the agreement. You—” 

“If I marry him I will still be a whore. You are no better than Snow selling me off!”

“I am looking out for you! That is all I have ever done!”

“Then you should have let me die! Just like you did with Colin! That must be better than this!” Immediately I felt regret for my words but I was too irate to take them back.

His voice is choked with emotion. “I could not allow that. I could never let you die.” 

“But you can sell me off without consulting me?”

“You should be grateful that I figured this out so quickly!” He roars, breathing heavily. I take a step back and feel tears well in my eyes. My emotions are so jumbled I cannot tell if they are from anger or sadness. I do not know what to say

I cannot even fathom a response to that and I storm off to my room without a word. I feel my eyes well with tears.

* * *

We had taken different cars to the event, an action I felt justified in and nobody questioned my request. Of course, I had worded it as I needed a few more minutes to get ready, and Anthony shouldn’t wait on me but based on the looks that my prep team was shooting Anthony afterward my icy tone belied that something was wrong.

After the formal dinner, I still burned in anger. I knew that I could not control myself around these people who deal in flesh as if it were gemstones. I am sure that if I was left to my own devices I would stab them with one of my dinner forks. I politely excused myself from a conversation about birds being drowned in wine and made my way to the gardens. 

From inside, I could not see them clearly but standing out on the terrace they took my breath away. My arms shook and not from the cold, but I wish that I had a shawl to cover my bare skin. The entirety of my back was open to the air, available to touch when we danced and it made my stomach rise in disgust. 

I feel trapped once more, either the maze in front of me or the insidiousness behind me. I inhale, the air bone chilling, and move forward into the darkness. 

The hedges of the maze are a different breed than that of my maze. I can see that now that I step closer. And I doubt that there are creeping vines or killer snakes hiding inside. I calm myself and wrap my arms around myself as I wander through the maze. My vision is keen and I keep a sharp eye out for the blinking red lights of potential cameras. I take in another shaky breath as I pace back and force, reminding myself that soon I will be home. After my Victory Tour. I can go home.

“Whatever are you doing?” His accent sounds especially ridiculous tonight and I breathe deeply and look away. I do not want to deal with him of all people right now.

“Mr. Berbrooke, not now.” I raise my hand to my shoulder and sweep off a lock of displaced hair.

“Mr. Berbrooke,” he repeats with a light laugh, shaking his head. “My dear, I insist that you call me Nigel. I suppose as your husband—” 

What he speaks of I do not dare entertain the thought of. “You will never be my husband. I will never marry you. My brother, he—” I pause and look away. “He made a mistake.”

“Do you think you're better than me?” He says, voice soft with an underlying sense of danger. He takes two steps towards me. I take two steps back. I can feel the brush of the hedges against my bare back.

“It would be best for you to leave,” I say, my voice shaking.

“You should be thanking me. I am your best hope. Everyone wants you, Miss Bridgerton.” I can hear the implications in his voice. He takes the final steps towards me and grabs my upper arms, pushing me closer into the bushes.

“You would rather be a whore than my wife?” His voice is harsh as he says the word. Whore. And worse, he is not being untruthful. 

All I can smell is the flowers in the maze, taking me back to my games. And suddenly it is not Nigel Berbooke in front of me but Male Eight, his hands wrapped around my throat with ease. I feel pressure on my lips and an animalistic scream tears itself from my body.

I attack him and he falls to the ground with a loud thud and suddenly I know I am dead for real. I have just attacked a man of high standing, one who has the wealth and influence to ruin my life forever. I close my eyes and let out a blood thick laugh, only to cough. I barely feel the tears that drip down my face, which must be ruining my makeup as I stare at him on the ground.

“Mr. Hastings,” I breathe out at my new audience. “I don’t know, I just he was on me and I could smell the flowers and I thought...” I do not need to say more. I am sure that he is able to figure out what happened without me forcing it out. I wipe my face clean, instinctively making myself presentable when a laugh forces itself out of my lungs at the situation.

Mr. Hastings just stares at Nigel who is unconscious on the grass.

“Beautiful and dangerous, they called you. Seems like they were right.” I gape at him. That is all he has to say? This situation keeps getting more outlandish by the minute and I am unable to think of a solution.

I lift a hand and observe my knuckles, red and already forming a bruise.

“Well I must say I am impressed,” he says.

“What are you doing out here?” 

“Avoiding certain... people,” he says. He nudges Nigel with one of his shoes. The man does not stir.

“People,” I repeat dumbly.

He looks at me and says, “Clients, or potential clients.” I flinch at the term. “Would you rather me call them suitors?” 

“Do not mock me,” I snap. “Do you have any idea the stress that I am under? What would happen if someone found out that I, that I— '' I can't even say it and I simply gesture to where there is a passed out man on the ground.

“I must go.” Thoughts of running away from it all flitter through my mind like honeybees, only to quickly reject the idea. I wonder what type of scene I could cause to somehow get an alibi.

“Marry me Miss Bridgerton,” Mr. Berbrooke says from the ground and I start hysterically laughing at my situation.

“Now as far as proposals go, that may be the least romantic of all,” Mr. Hastings says. I start to head off through the trees, away from the scene of my crime.

“If anyone asks, my proposal was the most romantic of all.” I stop in my tracks.

“I am not marrying you, Mr. Hastings,” I say without turning around. 

“But you could. Marry me, I mean.” 

He explains his plan and I am consumed by my fear. Of repercussions and retribution. Of simply existing in a life not worth living.

I walk away and allow myself to forget what just transpired and play the game, hoping that nobody had caught me breaking the rules only for a moment.

* * *

I turn the water on high, so it's scalding hot. I step in and hiss when it hits my bruised skin. After a few minutes, I can relax into it. I take one of the loofahs, which somehow leave behind glitter in its wake. I scream and rose scented water fills my mouth. I cannot take this constant barrage and throw it onto the ground and resort to using my fingernails, which leave long red lines behind. I scrub my body until all of it's raw and pink. No matter how hard I scrub, I still feel dirty.

I wrap myself in my robe, silk of course, and comb my hair. I look at myself in the fogged up mirror. My mascara has run down my whole face, and my eyes and nose are red from crying. I truly don't recognize myself anymore. Is this what I would look like if I agreed to the marriage I splash cold water on my face to try and reduce the puffiness and use a tissue to clean off the makeup streaks on my cheeks and under my eyes. I rip off the robe and barrel naked into my room, rifling through the drawers of provided clothing until I find what I am looking for. 

I put on baggy sleep pants, a sweatshirt, and wrap myself in a blanket from my bed. I do not know what to do. 

There is a tentative knock on my door. I know it is Anthony. The Avoxes would not knock.

I remain silent, safe in the embrace of my blanket **.** Only I am not safe, am I? I am to either be sold off or marry someone I detest. And to think a month ago I had wanted to win the Hunger Games, and flaunt my beauty to find a boy back home or maybe from the Capitol who would love me the same way that my parents did. A true love match. Everything I have ever learned was a lie. Did my father even love my mother? Or did she make her father insist upon the match? My mind spiral darker and darker and—

“Daph,” he calls out. Anthony has not called me that in years, not since we were children. I struggle out of the blanket and continue wearing it over my shoulders like a cape. I open the door and stare at him. Looking at his face I am reminded of what this slag headed boy had said and instead of anger, I just feel empty. 

He is holding a bottle of something. “Roof’s nice,” he says shaking it in front of me, the liquid sloshing around, the amber color mesmerizing me. 

I look to his face, hoping I would be able to decipher what he means from this. Perhaps he is drunker than I believed.

“Pardon?” My confusion must show on my face because Anthony repeats himself.

“The roof is nice this time of night. Quiet.” He taps his ear once and I begin to understand. We are being listened to. I do not know why the idea surprises me.

We travel to the glass elevator and Anthony presses the button with his thumb. We go to the top floor in silence and he shows me the unlabeled door and I cautiously follow him.

He sits down on the bare cement and I look at it and frown. Luckily I am dressed warmly. I settle down across from him, leaning my back against the ledge. 

“It is quieter up here. There is less of an audience due to the wind,” he says. And he is right, the wind whips my hair around but it is not overpowering. But I can translate what he truly means. There are no microphones where the government can overhear us. 

We sit in silence as he takes small sips from his bottle. I decide to be the one to speak first. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“You just did,” he laughs. He takes another long swig from the bottle and gestures with his hand for me to go on.

“Is this why Mr. Hastings is like that?” I gesture to the world around us, dark yet illuminated by the lights of the city below. I think of what he had said in the maze. 

“I have known Simon since we were in the Academy together. He has always been hard to be around.” He reaches out an arm and offers me the bottle and I shake my head no.

“He barely knew his father. Never knew his mother. Not one sibling. He grew up quite differently than us, Daph.” Anthony takes another drink and pushes himself up with his free hand. He sits down directly next to me, our shoulders touching and I hold open my blanket and let him join me. 

“In all the 20 years I have known him, he has not mentioned his so called family even once. He has spent his entire life alone.” He offers me the bottle once more and I accept it, the glass cool in my hands. 

“How very sad,” I say as I stare into the bottle as if it holds the answers to all of my questions. I take a swig directly out of it before I cough and sputter as it burns my throat. I hold it away from me as if it would burn, only to bring it close and take another sip. But this time I am prepared. It is nothing like the wine at home nor the drinks at the banquets. It makes me feel real, which is an improvement. 

“He prefers it that way. He has nobody for Snow to threaten him with.” Anthony takes the bottle from me and we go back and forth trading drinks. Mr. Hastings’ words swirl through my mind.

“Not like us.”

“Correct,” he says.

“Then why does he allow it to happen?” I cannot understand Mr. Hastings. Not his actions nor his words and it disquiets me. I have built so much around knowing people’s intentions and he always manages to catch me off guard.

The door opens with a small sound and I startle, worried that it is a Peacekeeper. Before my mind can come up with excuses about why we are on the roof, I can see it is just an Avox. I let out a breath I did not know I was holding.

She has been stationed in my apartments since I have been here, still and silent like a particularly useful statue. The Avoxes are a luxury we do not have in One, rebels who are deserving of their servitude. This one is a pretty thing, with dark hair pulled back painfully tight and lips painted as red as her uniform.

The Avox is empty handed and I look to Anthony, who has had his eyes on her since she arrived. He beckons her closer and his eyes are guilty. She opens her hands and holds out a note in Verdant’s writing. 

_It is getting late and you have a big day tomorrow. Sleep well._

Anthony reads it out loud and sends the Avox off without a word, staring at her back as she leaves.

“I was in love once.” My mind is sharp as a knife as I try to put the pieces I have been given in my head. He must have loved a girl with dark hair and I think back of the women I know who fit that description.

“She had a beautiful voice, I could spend hours listening to her sing.” He swallows a few more mouthfuls of the liquor, expression unchanging.

My mind begs me to ask where she is now but I am afraid of the answer. Before I was a Victor I was rarely afraid and now it seems like I always am. I am sick of it.

“She is nameless. We are to not speak of her.” The girl he loved, who can no longer sing. The appearance of the Avox. The puzzle becomes clearer and clearer and I loathe that I can see the appalling cleverness in it. She is still alive, a living ghost to haunt him into compliance. The girl he once loved is as good as dead. Avoxes do not have names.

“How do you live like this?” Horror must color my tone because he pulls me closer under my blanket.

“I live because I must,” and he sips again. The bottle is almost empty at this point and I feel warmer than when I arrived. Somehow, everything has become very clear.

“I am only trying to help you, Daphne. Please let me.”

And I am almost tempted to let him. “We have a big day tomorrow,” I say instead, referencing Verdant’s note. I am able to help myself and hopefully nobody will get hurt in the process.

* * *

_Eyes are watching me. They are always watching, and I can feel their hunger. They want to devour me, bleed me dry, kill me, save me, marry me. A breath on my cheek, pressure on my lips, grabbing hands on my body. They want to take and take until there is nothing left, a porcelain doll that is empty and hollow and cold, able to be positioned just as they wish._

_I run away, my body burning with exhaustion but I am not empty yet. I run blindly, the soft grass beneath my feet grows wet with the blood of the dead and turns to mud trying to suck me down below the earth. I quickly turn right to get away, the metallic scent overpowering, only to find a dead end. I am back in my maze. Ghosts reach out from the ground to grab at my ankles but I dart away and stumble onto a different path. The maze is full of tricks as the vines whip at me, trying to tangle me up in them. Pressure is what turns mere graphite to diamonds, and I am too sharp to hold for long._

I wake with a silent gasp. I will not live like that. Not when there is another option.

I reach over to my night table and pick up my phone. I call and when he picks up, I only say two words.

“I accept.”

Our conversation ends with that and I know he will be heading over to my apartment that very second, letting it slip to a few trusted friends where he was going. And he trusted their loud mouths. 

We meet on the roof, for it was Simon who showed Anthony the hiding place and its lack of microphones. Together, we formulate a plan. 

“I will not have this go wrong,” I say to him, thinking of everything I have to lose. Of everyone I care about.

“You mean our ruse.”

“It is more than a ruse now. It is more than a negotiation. This is not just about the red envelopes. This is about life, Mr. Hastings. My life. My family’s life.” I felt bad bringing up his family given all that Anthony had told me but this needs to be said. “I shall not have this go wrong. And if you are not in agreement then you should tell me now.”

He nods his head. “I shall agree on one condition”

“What?” I exclaim. “No, you do not seem to understand—”

“Call me Simon.” I stare at his face, surprised that this is his only condition. “If we are truly to seem to be courting, if this is to be a match like no other, you should call me by my name.” It was unexpectedly reasonable of him.

“Simon, then.” I let out a small laugh. “Call me Daphne.” 

And it was a small piece of etiquette for us from One to call each other by our first names, but it means the world. We could do this. A smile forms on my lips. We were doing this. 

* * *

The next morning, we walk out of the Tower arm in arm. I rest my head on his shoulder and a lovesick smile adorns my face. We ignore the thinly disguised cameras and the people hiding behind them as if we were so wrapped up in each other and had no time for little else.

“Someone must have told them of our romantic night together,” he says to me, loudly enough that any passerby would be able to hear it. I do not have to force my cheeks to redden at the implications his words have said. Simon looks as he always does, smug and beautiful. I decide that it suits him. 

After all, gossip moves quickly in the Capitol, and there is nothing they love more than a sensational real-life romance. It will surely be all over the news stations within the hour.

I think back to what he said the night he found me in the garden maze, different than the one that haunts my nightmares.

_“What do people like more than secrets? A story. We’ll make a story to fool them all. Then you don’t have to answer the letters, and neither do I.”_

I am Daphne Bridgerton. Beautiful and deadly. I can save myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: DAPHNE IS A BADASS WHO KNOWS HOW TO USE A SWORD HERE! Of course she will try and save herself. Having Simon help is just a bonus
> 
> ‘Birds being drowned in wine’ is a reference to ortolan buntings, which is a real dish from “southwest France where the birds are fattened up in a cage before being drowned in Armagnac [brandy]. Then they are plucked, cooked, and eaten whole, bones and all – everything but the beak.” [Source](https://cosmosmagazine.com/biology/bird-species-a-french-delicacy-being-eaten-to-death/#:~:text=Wild%20ortolan%20buntings%20are%20hunted,all%20%E2%80%93%20everything%20but%20the%20beak.)
> 
> Why am I unable to write short fics omfg. I have so much more planned. Would y’all be interested in a series? I have entire backstories for all of the Bridgerton siblings that can fit into this AU that I would write if there is interest!!! 
> 
> Let me know you enjoyed with a kudos and share your thoughts in the comments! I struggled so hard for the pacing of the last part and I ended up super proud of it. 
> 
> Subscribe to keep up with this :)


End file.
